


Hidden Track

by Theladyknight23



Series: Shining Stanzas [6]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Established Relationship, F/F, Female Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Female Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff, SO MUCH FLUFF, proposal attempts by an oblivious bard and witcher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:26:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28212363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theladyknight23/pseuds/Theladyknight23
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier's many attempts at a proposal during one winter solstice.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Shining Stanzas [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887478
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	Hidden Track

**Author's Note:**

> I know I said the series was over, but I desperately miss snow and wanted to write something fluffy and sweet. So here is a little bonus hidden track to the series, a brief continuation to my modern AU.  
> Should largely work as a stand alone.

Jaskier woke to the soft morning light drifting through the window. She could make out the lazily spiralling clumps of snowflakes falling against a cozy grey sky. It was early, and quiet, the world still calm. Usually, she would roll over and fall back asleep, but today was different. Her heart thudded with thoughts of today, with the little box hidden under her sweaters in the drawer Geralt had cleaned out for her two days after her first visit to the cottage. She carefully eased herself out from beneath the piles of covers and quilts, shivering as her bare feet met the cold wooden floor. Hissing softly with the chill, she quickly scrambled to catch up and put on the thick wool socks and robe left in a heap on the floor. Jaskier paused at the door, looking back to the bed. Beneath the puffy waves of the duvet and the multi-color patchwork of quilts, she could see a hint of Geralt’s white hair and pale face, soft in sleep. Jaskier was oh so tempted to climb back into bed, to press her cold hands into Geralt’s cheeks, to wake Geralt to kisses and laughter and groans and cries of ‘ppsft! Jaskier!” but if she did that she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from reaching for that little box. And that would utterly derail all her plans, while also depriving her Witcher of some much needed sleep.

Jaskier had waved Geralt on the night before when she was called to the city at the last minute to deal with a wraith.

“Are you sure?” Geralt asked as she layered on yet another sweater before reaching for her coat.

Jaskier, cozy and content by the crackling fire, looked to Ciri, sprawled out on the couch with a book, to the storm howling outside the window, and back to Geralt, now pulling on a hat.

“Yeah, I think we’re good,” laughed Jaskier.

“Hm,” said Geralt, shrugging and shouldering her way out into the storm.

Jaskier ended up heading up to bed shortly after Ciri, falling asleep under the bundle of blankets. She briefly woke when Geralt climbed into bed sometime in the night.

“All good?” she mumbled, and Geralt hummed an affirmative note, cuddling closer. Jaskier grumbled something about cold hands and cheeks and letting all the warmth under the covers out, before sliding back to sleep.

Thinking about the night before led her to thinking about the conversation she stumbled her way through with Ciri after Geralt left. Putting the old kettle on the stove, pressing the nob and giving it the little special turn and a half with practiced ease, she leaned back against the counter and waited for her water to boil, hugging her arms to her side. It was even colder downstairs, the embers of last night’s fire grey and cold. She stayed close to the stove, pulling the kettle away before it could scream. With a big mug of tea steeping, she set to work coaxing the fire back to life. She still wasn’t half as good as Geralt or Ciri, but after several minutes of throwing in kindling, matches, twists of newspaper and blowing on the collection until the spark caught, she eventually had a semblance of a fire. Carefully settling a larger log on her little flame, she swung the door of the fireplace shut and headed back to grab her tea. Jaskier knew from experience that it would take some time before the room properly warm again. This was one of the many reasons she usually elected to lie in bed until Geralt came and coaxed her out with promises of brunch.

Draped in a quilt and hands clutching the mug for warmth, she settled on the couch, watching her little fire steadily come to life. She thought about sitting there with Ciri, awkwardly explaining that she was going to ask Geralt to marry her. She wasn’t asking for permission but she thought she should talk to Ciri first and—

Ciri beamed and demanded to see the ring. It was simple, but lovely, a thick silver band. Carved inside the band were hidden words, a promise, just for them— _I’ll follow you to the end of the world_.

Ciri looked from the ring to Jaskier and smiled, a glint in her eyes that reminded Jaskier startlingly of Yen. Ciri had a secret and it teased in her smile, but she kept it close.

“When will you do it?” she demanded.

“Tomorrow,” said Jaskier. It was all rather sudden, but the winter solstice felt right. Geralt patrolled the city at night, and this was the longest night of the year. This was a time of endings and beginnings, of hope in the darkness.

She had been holding this idea for months, turning it over and over in her mind. She kept dancing closer and closer to it, filling a Pinterest board with wedding ideas and gushing to Essi and Pris about venues. But she was nervous. They were in love—but was that enough? Was this something Geralt wanted? If she pushed too far would it all shatter before her? What if she was too much?

Then two weeks ago Yen called out of the blue. It was a short conversation, largely consisting of Yen rattling off Geralt’s ring size and suggesting a jeweller, while Jaskier’s mouth hung open in shock. This was an endorsement of their relationship she had never expected from Yennefer.

“Just ask her already,” Yen said, voice dripping with impatience, before hanging up.

Jaskier found herself dazedly following Yen’s directions, until she found herself here, on a cold December morning, desperately aware of the little ring box hidden away upstairs, her old doubts slowly creeping in.

But how to pop the question? It had to be dramatic, and romantic and bold. This was a declaration, her love made manifest. It had to be perfect. _It needed to be perfect_.

It was too early to deal with this, she decided. She had plenty of time, so many hours to find that gleaming, wonderous moment when everything would fall together just right.

The book Ciri was reading the night before was still sitting on the low table before the fire. Jaskier picked it up, expecting some sort of Witcher training manual, but was pleasantly surprised to find a fluffy paranormal YA romance. She settled in, sipping her tea and flipping through the ridiculous but delightful pages. Next thing she knew the room was warm, Ciri was flopping down beside her and Geralt was bustling around in the kitchen. 

After breakfast Jaskier opened her mouth to suggest—what? A romantic walk in the snow? A bath? A retreat back under the covers? When Ciri loudly declared that it was time for sledding, which was, apparently, an important winter solstice tradition. Jaskier inwardly groaned and went to grab her snowsuit, reassuring herself that there was still plenty of time.

…

Geralt watched Jaskier chase Ciri up the snow covered hill and laughed. She had laughed before Jaskier. But in the last year it felt as if her mouth was learning new shapes, her face becoming familiar with happiness. With the daily feeling of joy. She had been lonely for so long before. But then there was Jaskier, bright, loud, and persistent, hurtling into her life.

Jaskier was wearing a ridiculous one-piece snowsuit now, a bright patchwork of colour that stood out vividly against the white snow. She kept coming close to catching Ciri, but the girl was always faster, pulling the long sled behind her. Jaskier made a desperate dive and managed to catch the end of the sled, subjecting herself to a tirade of Ciri’s playful fury. Geralt shook her head, chuckling, just catching the hint of Ciri’s words on the wind. She should go up and join them, but she was content now to just watch and listen, letting the calm of fields of untouched snow drift over her.

Geralt thought of a golden ring, inside a black velvet box, nestled safely in the glove box of the truck. She had bought it the day after Jaskier’s first disastrous concert, and had been carrying it by her side ever since. She wanted the world to see that she claimed Jaskier, that they belonged together. She was just waiting for the perfect moment. Geralt wasn’t good at romance, but Jaskier deserved all the pomp and glory she so delighted in. She kept the ring close and waited, even as the temptation to just hand it over one morning over coffee grew greater and greater each day. She had told Ciri about the ring and her intentions two weeks after buying it, and Ciri had been ecstatic. Geralt had to remind her it was a secret, that she was waiting for the right time. All too often it seemed Ciri would crack before Geralt could. Ciri had taken to giving Geralt pointed looks whenever Jaskier was obliviously caught up in something, like playing her elfin lute or pouring over the bestiary. _Now?_ Her raised eyebrow would demand, but Geralt would always shake her head.

Ciri and Jaskier finally reached the top of the hill, and piled onto the sled. Shrieking, they pushed off, coming hurtling down. They made it almost down the hill when the sled hit a bump and tittered dangerously to one side. Shouting, they capsized into a mess of white powder.

Geralt hurried over. They were both up and laughing by the time she reached them, cheeks rosy and covered in snow. Ciri pulled herself to her feet, and Geralt held out a hand to pull Jaskier out of the snow. Jaskier used the momentum to stuff a handful of snow down Geralt’s jacket and then they were all shrieking and laughing and hurtling snowballs at each other. Geralt pulled Jaskier down, clambering down on top of her and stuffing snow down her coat. Jaskier squawked and laughed and looked up at her with bright blue eyes.

“You tyrant!” she cried, giggling. Her hair was slipping out of her braid, and escaping the confines of her yellow woollen hat, her cheeks bright and mouth pulled back into a grin.

 _Marry me_ , thought Geralt. _Marry me_.

She would have proposed then if she had the ring with her.

But it was still hidden away in a glove box, kept safe from the snow.

She made do with the next best thing, pressing her cold lips to Jaskier’s.

“Race you to the top!” shouted Ciri, and then they were back on the hill, awkwardly running up through the mounds of snow, Jaskier’s mitten covered hand holding her own.

…

There was shivering and cold noses, exchanging wet clothing for warm woollen layers and hovering before the fire when they returned. Geralt made real hot chocolate, melting chunks of chocolate into the hot milk, patiently stirring the mixture until it was ready. Jaskier had hoped for a quiet moment, some time for Geralt and her to steal away after sledding. But the light was already fading, and Vesemir was calling, demanding to know when they would be arriving for the solstice celebrations. Jaskier made an excuse to race back upstairs, stuffed the little ring box in her pocket, pulled on her long red puffer and followed Ciri and Geralt back out into the snow.

Kaer Morhen was close, but the night was dark and cold, so they took Roachie, all three of them squeezing together in the front of the truck. Jaskier carefully balancing her lute on her lap. It took almost as long to drive as it did to walk, but at least in the truck they had the ancient heater diligently attempting to spurt hot air at them. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

There was a massive heap of wood already piled up for the bonfire when they arrived, but Geralt was still pressed into helping haul more by her brothers. Jaskier spent a moment appreciatively watching Geralt easily carry the massive logs, before finding herself dragged inside. In the manor all was bright and decked in flickering candles and boughs of pine and holly. There was food and drink and a collection of people she vaguely knew, mostly Witchers from other cities and other magically adjacent folk. Yen and Tris were attending a solstice celebration in the city but promised to try to swing by later. Jaskier was new to solstice celebrations, but threw herself into the festivities. When the call came up for music she happily obliged. She was standing on an old coffee table pressed into service as a makeshift stage, leading her clapping audience through a rough and ready lute version of ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’ when Geralt walked back in. Jaskier pointed her finger at Geralt as she sang the titular lines, feeling her cheeks flush. She was all too aware of the press of the ring box in her pocket. Geralt seemed to flush too, but it may have just been the cold.

 _Marry me_ , she thought. _Be mine_.

A cry suddenly broke through her song, declaring that the fire was ready to be lit. They all rushed to bundle back into winter clothes and head out into the night. Jaskier followed the rush, thinking longingly of that moment on her little stage. She could have done it then, could have declared her proposal for all to hear. But Geralt was a private woman. She wouldn’t want something loud and public, and Jaskier respected that, despite her own propensity for things that were both exceedingly noisy and conducted before large audiences. There was also the matter of knowing that if she did it here before this crowd, then they would all be witness to her shame and sorrow if Geralt was to say no.

Jaskier let the flow of the crowd carry her out into the cold, to the fire already beginning to crackle away. It was massive and bright, lighting up the dark night.

She found Geralt amongst the shining faces, and took her hand.

 _Marry me_.

Further down the field there was a large spiral stomped into the snow, lined with candles. Geralt led Jaskier over, explaining that it was a way of saying good-bye to the old year, to welcome in the new. Jaskier took one of the unlit candles waiting by the entrance, and followed the worn path of the spiral. It had been quite a year, she had a lot to consider in the time it took for her to wind her way to the centre. She’d been dumped, had her song go viral, met Geralt and Ciri, recorded a great album, had a truly disastrous first concert and then a string of thankfully less exciting shows, became friends with Triss and (maybe?) Yen and practically moved into Geralt’s cottage. She lit her candle with the ones in the centre, nestling it down in the snow beside them.

And her hopes for the future? Those all seemed to be bundled up in a ring.

Geralt was waiting when Jaskier exited the spiral, and the question felt heavy on Jaskier’s tongue. It burned, it sparked—she had to say it. Here among the candle light and the flickering beams of the fire, with the night stretching endlessly beyond and the snow gently falling around them, this was a romantic moment as any.

She reached into her pocket.

Then Ciri was there, wielding Vesemir’s camera, Triss and Yen trailing behind her, looking as elegant as ever. Following them seemed to be every other person at the party, looking at Jaskier and Geralt with eager eyes.

 _Marry me_ , thought Jaskier. But she swallowed the words.

“Okay?” asked Geralt.

“Yep! Just peachy,” said Jaskier. Inside she was cursing and spitting and wringing her hands, but she managed to offer a smile. “Let’s get more food, did you try those cookies Aiden brought? Simply divine!” She led Geralt away, feeling her disappointment bitterly burning away.

…

Geralt spent the party trying to get Jaskier alone, but there was always someone else, something else demanding Jaskier’s attention. Geralt grumbled and considered just bundling Jaskier off into the laundry room and asking her there. But that wasn’t exactly romantic. She had come so close to asking when Jaskier finished with the spiral. It was perfect—a new beginning. But then the whole fucking crowd decided to descend upon them, and Geralt’s throat seemed to close.

She followed Jaskier around, trying to not glare each time someone new came up to chat with her.

“Are you alright?” asked Triss, after catching Geralt’s faint growl when a young mage from the city pulled Jaskier over, asking questions about her lute.

“Yes,” said Geralt, humming sharply. Triss looked from Geralt to Jaskier and offered her a sympathetic smile.

“Soon,” said Triss, and Geralt pretended she didn’t know what Triss was talking about.

All too quickly the party was over, and they were driving home, an exhausted Ciri bundled up between them. It was well past midnight, and they all exhaustedly headed up to bed.

They were half way through their bedtime routine, when it hit her, like a physical force, painful and sharp like the talon of a cockatrice sliding through skin, that she had let yet another day slip by. Another day of not finding the words. Another day of the beautiful golden ring hidden away.

Her jaw tightened. She didn’t want to wait any more.

 _Marry Me_.

Geralt found herself moving almost automatically, taking the ring and carrying it over to the bathroom where Jaskier was still brushing her teeth in one of Geralt’s old t-shirts. Her mouth felt dry. Her hands were always steady on her sword but now they were shaking. What if she said no? What would Geralt do then?

She couldn’t find the words. She opened the box and held it up, holding her breath.

Jaskier spat into the sink and lifted her head. Looking into the mirror, she spotted Geralt and sleepily smiled around her toothbrush. A moment later she noticed what Geralt held and her eyes went wide.

…

Jaskier couldn’t believe it. She dropped her toothbrush to the sink with a clatter. Heart pounding she whirled around. Geralt was standing before her, looking stripped bare and open, offering her heart up for Jaskier. The ring was gorgeous and elegant, golden and studded with a couple of small diamonds and sapphires.

“Will you marry me?” asked Geralt, voice soft and hesitant.

Jaskier felt the tears spark in her eyes.  
“I—One second,” she cried. Leaving a startled and gaping Geralt behind, she raced to the bedroom, seizing her jeans and digging out the box. She hurried back to the bathroom, brandishing her own little ring box. 

“Marry me,” she said, tears properly flowing now. Geralt looked utterly stunned. She looked back and forth between Jaskier and the ring.

“Yes,” she whispered. “And?”

“Yes of course I’ll marry you!” shouted Jaskier. She was properly crying and there was definitely tears glistening in Geralt’s golden eyes and then they were both shakingly sliding rings on to each other’s fingers.  
“I’ve been trying to ask you all day,” laughed Jaskier.

“I’ve been trying to ask you for months,” admitted Geralt.

Jaskier felt her heart stop, and warmth flare up inside her chest. She wanted to sing and whoop and cry and dance and laugh. Everything at once.

“Fucking finally!” shouted Ciri, appearing in the doorway in her pajamas, “We’ve been waiting all day!”

“Ciri!” said Geralt. “Language!”

She was grumbling but a grin was spreading across her face. Jaskier was laughing and crying and Ciri was cheering.

“I’m gonna go call Yen and Triss!” cried Ciri racing down the hall, continuing to ramble as her voice grew fainter, “and then Grandpa and Uncle Eskel and Lambert and Dara!”

Jaskier half-heartedly held up a hand to stop her, but let it drop.

“So the secret is immediately out,” she said, turning to Geralt.

Geralt shrugged. “It sounds like it wasn’t much of a secret.”

“Well I feel like they could have said _something_. Rather than just letting us bumble around like idiots. Oh gods, I’m still shaking. I won’t be changing my name, too much of my branding is already built up around it. Well sort of? And changing my birth certificate would be weird. Oh can you just imagine a July wedding, one of the barns at Kaer Morhen decked out in lights and flowers! We can use one of your swords to cut the cake—Oof” said Jaskier, as Geralt swept her up in her arms.

“You talk too much,” she murmured, burying her face in the crook of Jaskier’s neck.

“But you love me for it,” said Jaskier, voice drifting a little higher at the end as Geralt pressed a reverent kiss to her collarbone, offering all the answer she could ever need.

“A July wedding sounds great,” said Geralt, lifting her head to look Jaskier in the eyes.

“Gives me time to compose something good,” said Jaskier.

“I can’t wait to hear it,” murmured Geralt. The kiss she pressed to Jaskier’s lips was soft and sweet, deepening into something fierce and passionate. Jaskier leaned into her embrace.

“Marry me,” said Jaskier. “Marry me.”

Outside a storm began to sweep up, snow swirling against the windows. But inside they were safe and warm, caught up in each other’s arms.

“I will,” murmured Geralt. “I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written to "Keep Me Warm" by Juniper Vale, Vian Izak and Ben Laver, a lovely cozy track I have been listening to on repeat recently.  
> The solstice celebrations are comprised of my own vague memories of solstice celebrations I attended in the past, but hopefully not entirely off, something warm and bright amongst the darkness of the longest nights of the year.


End file.
